Chapter 13 #2
I paused for a deep inhalation. Every step was a risk; the potential for danger lurked around every corner. I didn’t fear death half as much as I feared discovery. I’d seen firsthand there were far worse fates than death.
But I was the only one who could follow this particular thread.
Even if Judd had lived, he would’ve quickly found himself out of his depth with this investigation.
He was a werewolf. Diligent, focused, and principled, yes, but those qualities were nothing to the ancient forces I might find holding the spool.
I was better equipped for this job than anyone knew—a secret I intended to take to the grave.
The stone wall gave way to another tunnel. I forced myself to continue until I saw a glimmer of light in the distance. My speed accelerated. I was growing increasingly desperate to finish this line of inquiry and return to Evermore. To safety.
I squeezed through what appeared to be the mouth of a cave and entered a light-filled cavern. A pointy-eared woman with strawberry blonde hair popped up from behind a counter-shaped rock. She wore a dark green cloak sprinkled with dirt and dust.
“Welcome to the Archives. We’re here to serve,” she said in a singsong voice.
I approached the makeshift counter. “I’m here to see the Archivist.”
“Name?”
“Maya August.”
She pulled up her hood, hiding her face in shadow.
“Hello?”
The hood fell, once again exposing her head. “It seems you don’t have an appointment.”
“No, sorry.”
“Then I’m afraid you’ll need to reschedule. The Archivist’s next appointment is in three hundred and sixty days.”
“Almost a year? That’s worse than a psychiatrist.”
“A psychiatrist cannot do what the Archivist does, Miss August. No one can.”
“I can’t wait that long.”
She looked me up and down. “I would ask what you have to barter, but I’m going to guess the answer is ‘not much.’”
“Hey! Plenty of millionaires walk around in sweatpants and T-shirts.”
“Are you a millionaire?”
“Well, I didn’t mean me. ”
“If you have nothing to barter, then I’ll put you on the schedule in three hundred and sixty-one days.”
“Wait, what happened to three-sixty?”
“Someone has already scooped up that appointment. I’m not the only assistant, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.” I mulled over my options. “How about this? You get me in for an appointment now, and I promise not to turn you into a statue.” I activated a few serpents on my head to increase the seriousness of the threat.
The faerie tripped over her own feet to scramble backward. “Gods, no! I have a snake phobia. Please put them away.” Fear radiated from every fiber of her being.
“I’ll only take a few minutes of his time,” I said. I released a couple more serpents for good measure. I felt a smidge of guilt for terrorizing this poor faerie, but knowing that Judd’s and Belinda’s killer was still out there kept me from folding.
She closed her eyes, whimpering, “Put them away, please. I’ll get you in. Just make them go away.”
I retracted the serpents and returned my normal frizzy hair to my head. “Thank you. I appreciate your flexibility.”
“Come right this way, please.” Still wary, she made sure to stay several steps ahead of me.
I ignored the growing knot in the pit of my stomach and followed her to a larger, open-plan cavern. It was surprisingly bright and airy for underground archives.
“The Archivist will be with you shortly. I advise you not to touch anything in the meantime.”
I held up my palms in acquiescence as she hurried from the cavern. The walls seemed to be made of limestone, which no doubt contributed to the sense of brightness. There wasn’t much to see with the naked eye, so I tried to focus on the patterns in the limestone to keep my anxiety from spiraling.
Finally, the shuffling of feet relieved me of my mental struggle. I turned toward the sound.
“Miss August. I am Marshall Peabody, Archivist-in-Residence.”
Even with his golden hair pulled back in a ponytail and thick glasses perched on the bridge of his aquiline nose, Marshall Peabody was the male equivalent of the sexy librarian.
He wore a similar cloak to the receptionist, only his was trimmed in gold thread and he wore a matching gold stole around his neck.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Peabody.” I shook his hand.
“How can I be of service?”
“I need information on a recently deceased mermaid.”
“Name of the deceased?”
“Belinda Harkness.”
“And the location of death?”
“Evermore Island, Georgia.”
“The country or the state?”
I blinked. “I’d be standing in front of a different Archivist near the Black Sea if I meant the country.”
“True, true. Always best to ask, though. You should see what passes for geography lessons these days. It’s positively mortifying.” He removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with the end of his sleeve. “The dust here is unrelenting.”
“I would think dust would be bad for the archives.”
“The archives are pristine, I can assure you. That’s why we suffer out here.” He returned the glasses to their original position. “Why come to me about this Belinda Harkness?”
“Her fate-thread was missing. ”
He peered down his nose at me. “That tends to happen when someone dies, Miss August.”
“I don’t mean that it was snipped. I mean it was completely gone. Removed at the root.”
He stared at me for a beat. “I see. And you’d like me to check the records to see whether this is a significant detail.”
“I would.”
“One moment, please.” He crossed the room and climbed to the top of a wooden ladder, which then rolled several feet to the side before slowing to a stop.
“Shouldn’t you burst into song while you’re up there?”
Marshall didn’t bother to look at me. “I only sing in the shower, although I will say the acoustics are excellent in here.” Still on the top rung, he retrieved a large tome from a hidden compartment.
I looked more closely at the limestone walls surrounding us. The patterns weren’t just part of the rock formation; they were the outlines of all the hidden compartments. Incredible.
Marshall tucked the tome under his arm and climbed down the ladder. He opened the book and perused the entries as he approached me. “I see your friend Belinda here.” His eyebrows pinched together. “Interesting.”
“What is it?”
“She’s here, yet…she shouldn’t be. Your instincts are correct, Miss August. Belinda’s thread was not missing for the usual reason.”
I played dumb. “What other reasons could there be?”
“Your friend may have been the victim of a Thread-Thief. Do you know what that is?”
“Sounds like they steal fate-threads.” I couldn’t sound too knowledgeable on the subject since information on Thread-Thieves wasn’t widespread .
“They do, I’m afraid. It’s rumored that Thread-Thieves were once apprentices to the Fates themselves, although no one knows for certain.”
“So these thieves are fae like you?”
Marshall’s pale face reddened. “They are nothing like me. I respect the threads of destiny. Thread-Thieves try to ‘edit’ someone’s destiny by knotting threads together for the thrill of it.
They sell stolen destiny threads on black markets.
They allow themselves to be hired by mortals desperate to change their luck. ”
Which was why they were hunted by agents of the Fates for destabilizing their precious tapestry. “Can you blame someone for trying to change bad luck into good?”
“No, but I can blame them for stealing another’s destiny to make it happen. One cannot build a house of happiness on a rotten foundation.”
No argument there.
“There’s one more thing.” I couldn’t believe I had the nerve to make this request, but this was Judd. My mentor. The big brother I never had. I had to try. “I’ve heard an Archivist can restore a destiny that was unfairly taken from someone.”
His friendly demeanor dissipated. “I don’t know where you heard such poppycock, but my ethics are not up for grabs. As I told you, I respect the threads of destiny. If I change a fate-thread, then I’m no better than a Thread-Thief.”
“But if it’s a destiny that was wrongfully taken, you’re simply correcting a mistake.”
Marshall slid his glasses to anchor his nostrils, so that he stared farther down his nose at me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said .
“Well, you did.” He sniffed indignantly to punctuate the point.
“The other victim…His name is Judd. He was the director of security on the island. I think he died trying to help Belinda.”
“And why should I alter his fate?”
“Because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“And this mermaid Belinda did?”
“No, of course not, but Judd?—”
“Is important to you. I understand, Miss August. Believe me, I do, but just because a life is cut short doesn’t mean it’s automatically a destiny that requires restoration.
As you said, your friend was the director of security.
The fact that his life ended in defense of another is very likely his intended fate.
” His gaze softened. “If anything, you should have asked for the restoration of Belinda’s fate-thread. It is she who was wronged.”
And now I had a layer of guilt and shame on top of disappointment.
“If you’re intent on this line of inquiry, you may want to seek out someone from the Menders Guild. Are you familiar with them?”
“Yes.” But they weren’t an option. Not for me.
“It’s strange,” he said, circling me.
I pivoted to face him. “Yes?”
“I cannot see yours.”
“Everybody says that. It’s there. Just blends in with the darkness of my soul.” I offered a smile that likely wasn’t nearly as charming as intended.
“Has it always been so?”
“For as long as I’ve been told. ”
“You might want to see someone about that. It could be indicative of a number of serious conditions.”
“Thanks for the tip.”